


Baggage

by WereRabbit



Series: Vigilance [2]
Category: GW2 - Fandom, Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Black Citadel, Gen, charr - Freeform, guild wars - Freeform, gw2 universe, tyria - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9433094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WereRabbit/pseuds/WereRabbit
Summary: Still young and carrying the weight of an unwanted father, Lyzaret Ironmouth begins to make her own identity.





	

When she first presented her flamethrower, Lyza was greeted with the obvious comments. “Cinders” was still the popular nickname - leftover Flame Legion trash, the other young would-be soldiers of the fahrar would remind her. They were old enough to start forming warbands now, and no one would want to have someone toting around a weapon that tried to control fire. “Might as well go back with that Shaman sire of yours,” one said, gruff, snarling over their shoulder. “If you like playing with fire so much, I’m sure they’d love to have you cooking over one.” 

She was old enough now to know not to indulge in their comments. She had more important things to do. And when their Primus brought in a Legionnaire of the Ash Legion, talking to them about a mission to infiltrate and sabotage a Flame Legion camp that was discovered on the outskirts of the Diessa Plains, she was the first to volunteer. 

“This mission is a test,” The Legionnaire explained, stepping in before the Primus, “but that doesn’t mean this isn’t a serious matter. The risk of death is just as real as it would be out on the field. Are you sure you’re so eager to go?”

“Yes,” she said, eyes fixed onto the grizzled Legionnaire. “If I don’t make it out, I don’t deserve to.”

\-------------------- 

It was 5:00 AM and the mists were as thick as though they had entered the Other World. Seven of them crouched in the brush, some forty yards away from where the intruder’s camp was. They seemed to be asleep, with the exception of one guard - of course this would be a sneak attack, if Ash had anything to do with it. But it was widely agreed that this was to be the safest course of action for fledgling soldiers. Minimize room for error, Lyza’s primus had told her. The veteran lifted her hand they snuck into to edge of the base, six not-quite-adults crouched and ready for battle. The goals were as such - confiscate any important documents they might have, destroy the rest. Direct combat was to be avoided - if they could get the materials and damage the place, they could get out and leave them crippled. The six nodded as they were explained again, and with a silent command, they quietly crept into the camp. The Legionnaire dispatched the guard quickly, the brute too slow and stupid from lack of sleep to detect the hilt of the blade that came and smacked their skull. The rest went to do their part, sneak into the tents and confiscate any maps, plans of attack. 

Everything was going smoothly, everything went as expected. Except what they didn’t expect was the rock dog that had decided they were in their territory. And they didn’t expect the snarling or the barking, or the way the large Flame charr around them woke up and rubbed their eyes only to be greeted by a small warband of thieves, holding onto their goods. And this was bad, of course, for all parties, but what none of them expected was to hear a shrill scream and a great plume of fire, engulfing the tents and burning the faces of the still-dazed Flame soldiers. Fire seemed to roar everywhere, angry as it devoured each tent and it’s contents, charr not able to crawl out of their beds fast enough smothered and burnt to a crisp. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from, for a time, until the Legionnaire noticed a stream coming from one of the smaller recruits in her charge. Gray-furred and ruddy, the eager one from earlier, holding a large, makeshift flamethrower and screaming, not moving an inch from where she was. The Legionnaire reached for her and pulled her away, but even when the jet of fire stopped, the camp continued to burn. Tugged by her scruff the two ran away from the pyre to meet with the others. Sweating, panting, scolded, her ear was chewed off for acting out of line, but the mission had been a success, and aside from some singed fur and minor burns, everyone came out alright. What’s more, the six others she went with stared at her with a new sort of look - fear, maybe, but she thought that, in some way, that was respect. And the way they went off and talked about what she did certainly _sounded_ like respect.

It was unorthodox, but for Lyza, it was a success.


End file.
